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Reflection from March 2nd, 2013 @ Age 31


Ugh!  So glad to be out of 2 and into 3!  The weather hasn’t improved any bit better yet, but it will come.  Slowly but surely, it will be here before we know it.

So I was driving in the car on the way to get my cupcake dinner from Pink Moon tonight and it occurred to me, well, this occurred to me:

Maybe perhaps the reason I was meant to save Cooper was to show me the sheer strength of my own human-will.  I mean, first of all, I’d argue quite frankly it’s much more god-like than anything else—but beyond that even, maybe god wanted to show me that I quite literally have a strength of spiritual will so strong that I could save human lives with it if I pleased.  I really do though think that I’m on to something here.

I mean here we are on the cusp end of winter 2012/13, and MISTER President Barack Obama (AKA my hero) announces that this spring—this Spring 2013—he will commence a national dialogue about mental illness.  And here I am, all set to go, ready to fuel that fire afuckin’ flame.  All ready to go.  All ready to go because I already know what my material says, and I already know what my material says because I took five weeks off of work last year to “work on the book”.  I mean, it’s uncanny.  I can’t even begin to tell you how remarkable it is.  It’s just nothing but simply unbelievably remarkably uncannily I can’t even tell you what.  No, no, I can…it’s extraordinary.  It is above and beyond the ordinary and it’s now settled at my level.  And so here the show is setting itself up.  And I am preparing for my part—the part I will play.  In the national dialogue—President Obama, my hero—33.  32 is quickly approaching; 33 will be here before we know it.  Who knows what it will bring, s’been a mystery all along.  Or has it?  Has it been a mystery, or a making of my destiny within a fate I learned long ago.  Hard to say isn’t it?  Hard to say one way or another now, isn’t it?

No, no—that’s enough being cocky.  I hate that word.  But I’ll use it because I was bein’ it and such goes the dialogue of an honest one.  Anyways…

If it turns out a big fat nuthin’ then all be damned and just another mentally ill one.  But I’m pretty damn sure about this one; I can feel it in my bones because it is a part of my being.

So then, I get to Pink Moon and this all quite slips right out of my mind when I slip in the door at 4:55pm to grab one quick cupcake prior to their 5 o’clock closing time.  Except there was no quick, because there was a rather large group of high school girls—all shapes and sizes and attitudes galore—but ohh for surely one proud little Queen Bee, one little ring leader of this crowd of high school circus clowns.  Waiting, waiting, waiting…we waited 10 minutes while I questioned in my head whether anyone was actually working.  But he was, and finally he came back with about 10 different cupcakes, for 10 little bitchy girls.  We’re all separate—he rings them up one by one.  Thanks for waiting.  Ohh you’re welcome, no problem.

I could feel this little snot rag’s soul in the air—its stench of evil I would not miss.  I watched, I watched the dynamics—the innocent, funny, outgoing blonde of a rich girl, of a bitch girl.  The fat girl’s birthday—everyone gather round the fat girl, watch her and her cupcake.  And then I remembered, this is whySo many reasons why—and this is one.

I write to save people.  I write to save the people who deserve to be saved and don’t have voices strong enough yet to save themselves.  I save the innocent college girl, ravaged by Kathryn Kauzi’s and Jeremy Stalworth’s—who think it’s nothing but fun game to hunt innocent good hearts.  I save the mentally ill girl whose self-esteem’s been ripped to shreds by countless Crosby Pluckton’s, Harrison Fulright’s and Cooper Lehmann’s—who take every ounce of extraordinary she’s got to give and then throw her away with the trash.  I save the young souls impressed with the iron welding of David Magoon’s—money’s not green enough, life’s not exquisite enough, soul’s just not good enough.

I save them all.  And I do so because I can.  Some are quite adept at destruction—they take pleasure in their wreckage.  But they all know deep down they destroy because it is the only power of which they are truly capable.  And so while I have been cursed, in contrast, with so much more I have too been blessed.